EVIDENCE OF CAR THIEF LEFT A DISTINCT AND SAD IMPRESSION

A third — and final — letter to the person(s) who stole my 2006 Volvo station wagon on the Fourth of July:

Hello there.

I’m writing on the off chance you’re using this page as a summer blanket on PB’s boardwalk.

A police officer called Wednesday morning to say my car, the one you stole from in front of my house, had been found on hilly Malden Street, near Kate Sessions Park in PB.

That afternoon, I drove to a tow yard to inspect the V50, which was much the worse for your wear. I quickly came to a few conclusions about your, uh, character.

• Though I begged you not to smoke, you lit up Black & Milds while tooling around the coast. How do I know? You left a wrapper — and a stench — behind. (You might also consider a bath in Pine-Sol before you smash-and-grab another car.)

• You might also want to consider driving lessons. In the days you were the de facto owner, you had two fender benders. By contrast, I drove the car for six years and not a scratch. I’m not bragging, mind you, just reporting.

• Clearly, you’re not a neat freak. So far as I could tell, the car had not been washed since the fourth, let alone waxed. Is this how you care for your meth pipes and needles?

You tried to clean me out but left a ripped Thomas Guide and one tennis ball. Bashing the CDs was unnecessary, I thought.

• You’re willing to take more risks than a day trader on crack. Evidently, you saw my Prince tennis bag — and bucket of used balls — and smashed the window to gain entry. My fault, I know. I shouldn’t have tempted you.

I’m sorry there was just one racket inside. You were no doubt counting on at least two. I recently bought an identical Weed that you’re welcome to steal over my dead body.

• You are, I imagine, athletic, quick as a ferret. Like greased lightning, you found a hidden spare key and thought, “Tweakers, start your engines!”

• You’re an amateur, not a professional. You’re into burglary and joy rides, not auto-theft rings. You ditched the battered Volvo after you’d had your filthy way with her. Sleazy come, sleazy go.

In case you’re wondering, I bought a new ride that you will now have the opportunity to break into and steal. (Though be advised, you won’t find anything of value inside — and no hidden spare key.)

Though I loved her like an old family heirloom, the Volvo now belongs to my insurance company.

If you want to reclaim anything you left behind — like the spare change you scattered — you’ll have to contact Farmers.